


Partners Unpartnered

by Lomonaaeren



Series: July Celebration Fics 2017 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Aurors, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Harry and Draco aren’t Auror partners. Harry has Ron, Draco has Theodore. But sometimes titles take a while to catch up with reality.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth of my July Celebration fics, and will be posted in three parts. It tries to envision a different way of Harry and Draco getting together as partners other than being assigned together by the Ministry.

******Partners Unpartnered**

“Down!”

Ron’s warning came too late. Harry saw the witch turn to fire the curse over her shoulder, but he didn’t have the time to duck or raise a Shield Charm with her this close—or any space, really, with the crush of Auror bodies around him, struggling in an all-out battle with the Dark wizards who had attacked the Ministry. He braced himself for the pain, trying to arrange his body so that at least Ron was shielded.

Someone cast from the side. The witch’s wand soared out of her hand as she was speaking the last syllable of the incantation, and although Harry felt the temptation to freeze with shock flooding him, his training took over. He made sure that she was Stunned in the next moment and caught up in a rope net against the ceiling with the rest of the sudden prisoners they had taken.

Harry didn’t have time to thank the person, but he did jerk his head to the side, so he could look, a moment before the next masked would-be Death Eater charged at him.

Malfoy.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and then turned back to his own battle, three wizards pressing in around him and his trembling partner Nott, without saying anything. Harry shook the temptation to do so when Malfoy hadn’t out of his head and then began to duel the man in front of him. Ron was on his feet behind him, one hand in the middle of his back, and Harry at least knew he had the support he had come to count on most since the war.

*

“Thanks.”

Draco blinked and glanced up from tugging at the bandage on his hand. Trust his luck to have let him take only a minor wound in the very end of the battle, but one struck by an Anti-Clotting Curse a moment later. The Healers had charmed the cut closed and bandaged it, but not carefully enough, Draco thought, if the itch coming from beneath the wrapper was any indication—

His thoughts blew away when he realized Potter stood in his doorway. Draco turned slightly to the side so that he had better access to his wand, and was glad that the Anti-Clotting Curse hadn’t hit his wand hand.

Potter recognized the movement. Well, he would. They had the same training, after all. His lip curled, and he nodded. But he didn’t move away, and his eyes stayed clear; that wasn’t something Draco was used to, not when they tended to darken every time he so much as looked at someone who’d been a Death Eater. Draco had undertaken Auror training because he knew that nothing would make the press shut up about him, so they might as well print complimentary things—and for other, private reasons, too. That didn’t matter to Potter and his darkening eyes, though. They went the color of jade every time he saw Draco.

Now, though, they didn’t. Draco stood there, Potter stood there, and it seemed Potter was perfectly comfortable maintaining the silence. Draco was finally the one who sighed, shook his head, and said, “For saving your life?”

“Yeah,” Potter said. “Because that’s what you did.” He tossed Draco the tiniest of salutes and walked away.

Draco blinked at the empty doorway, and then his itching hand distracted him again. He undid the bandages with one flick and remade them with another. _Much_ better.

*

Harry leaned his head back against the wall of his office and moaned. “Paperwork breeds when we’re not looking at it,” he announced. “Take some of this off my desk and home with you, Ron. _Please._ ”

Ron grinned maliciously at him and shook his head. His own desk was clear, as it usually was, though Harry knew some of that was because he scraped paperwork he thought wouldn’t be missed into the bin. Or onto other Aurors’ desks, sometimes. “Sorry, mate, but I’ve earned my evening off with Hermione.”

He started to say something else, but broke off, staring out the office doorway and frowning. Harry twisted around to see what he was staring at. No good, though, just the trailing glimpse of another Auror’s cloak as he swept past.

“That’s Malfoy,” Ron said in a moment, shaking his head. “Striding around with his nose in the air, just exactly like his arm doesn’t stink and won’t as long as he lives. Wish they wouldn’t have let him in here. He’ll grow like a cancer—”

“Stop.”

Ron turned to face Harry, and then gaped at him before laughing a bit. “Mate? You look the way you did that time Earnshaw escaped.”

Harry tried to roll his lips back down over his teeth and relax his face. The newspaper photographs from the Earnshaw case were not among his most treasured possessions. “Right,” he said. “Of course. I told everyone that I wouldn’t look like that as long as they never let anyone else escape the cells. And we’ll be fine as long as you never say anything like that about Malfoy again.”

Ron stared at him. Then he said, “Why, Harry?” kindly and patiently, like he was trying to coax a Kneazle kitten down from a high tree. “You know it’s just Malfoy. It’s just the kind of things we always say. I think you were comparing him to gangrene at that party a fortnight back, weren’t you?”

“That was Mortimer,” Harry said, and folded his hands in his lap. “Malfoy saved my life, Ron. He didn’t have to, and he risked his own life to do it, because taking any attention away in that battle could have meant he _died._ I don’t want anyone to insult him anymore.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Like he is that kind of gangrene, or cancer. Like that Dark Mark he wears really is going to spread off his arm and corrupt us all. I’ve heard you say a lot worse things about him than I ever have.”

“Yeah, well, I was wrong,” Harry said in a clipped voice. “That’s all. Don’t say anything like that again.”

“Next thing, you’ll want me to apologize to him,” Ron said, and then shook his head like an otter shedding water. “You _don’t_ want me to apologize to him, do you, mate?”

“No,” Harry said. “The past is the past. But he saved my life a week ago, and that changes things for me, Ron.” He thought about trying to explain the way that Ron’s words had seemed to punch him in the gut, and then decided that it was best not to try. “I don’t want anyone to abuse him.”

“Then you’re going to have a lot of people in the Department to correct, because almost everyone does,” Ron muttered, although he was nodding in the way that Harry knew meant he would change the way he did things. “Almost everyone agrees that he shouldn’t have been let in here. I don’t even think his partner likes him.”

Harry gave Ron another of the kind of smile that had not so much beamed as _burnt_ off the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ when Earnshaw escaped. “It’s good that I have a lot of energy to correct them, then.”

*

Draco licked his lips and stepped back from the door of Potter’s office. Even with Potter’s newfound commitment to defending him, Draco still didn’t think it would go very well for him if Potter found him eavesdropping.

And of course he’d listened, because he’d heard his name mentioned. But he hadn’t at all anticipated what he would hear next.

 _He doesn’t have to do that,_ he thought, fighting his way through to the conclusion that he thought was Potter’s. Of course, he didn’t have access to Potter’s mind and wouldn’t understand what he found there even if he did, so that wasn’t a guarantee that he knew Potter’s real motivation. _I mean, I reckon I can see why he would want to do that, because I saved his life, but I didn’t ask for this in return._

That left the idea that Potter simply wanted to do it because—well, because he wanted to. Or because he had changed his own thinking about Draco in the wake of Draco saving his life, as unexpected as it had been.

Draco shook his head, and went his way. He didn’t even know if the way that Potter spoke and thought of him at the moment would last. He would have to wait and see to find out, as would the rest of the Auror Department.

Though he had to admit, fewer insulting references from everyone around him would be welcome.

*

“Can you _explain_ yourself, Auror Potter?”

Harry smiled. He knew that it looked less impressive than usual because one of his front teeth was broken. Or, what the hell, he thought, as Kingsley visibly flinched before frowning at him, maybe that made it more impressive.

“No, sir,” Harry said. “I already did, and no one believed me.” He moved his tongue gingerly around the top of the tooth, and winced as the crack in it caught at his flesh. Well. He would just go to a Healer and have that taken care of as soon as possible, then.

“Try me.” Kingsley settled back behind his desk and gave Harry the kind of waiting look that made him such a good Head Auror, dealing with all the shit that Aurors came up with to excuse their attacks on prisoners or use of unnecessary force.

 _He probably thinks that last’s what I did,_ Harry thought, and nodded. “All right, sir. I know Auror Malfoy has had a spotless record since he joined the Department, and he hasn’t even insulted Muggleborns. But there are people who think it’s all right to insult _him_. Someone today speculated that his mother ‘whored herself out to half the Aurors to clear his father’s name.’ I wasn’t going to let that stand.”

Kingsley stared at him. Then he said, “But you were enemies in Hogwarts.”

“And now we’re not.” Harry looked at Kingsley with a calm expression on his face, and wondered how exasperating it probably was. Then he thought of the way that Hermione had tried to explain some of the Slytherins’ actions to him in the past, and winced.

_All right, so I can imagine how exasperating it is. But that isn’t going to keep me from doing it._

“The insult was to his mother, and not Auror Malfoy himself,” Kingsley said, leaning back and rubbing his jaw as though he thought the feeling of stubble would make things clearer for him. “Why should he not be left to defend her honor?”

“That was the exact same kind of logic Professor Snape used, sir,” Harry said. “When Malfoy insulted my parents in Hogwarts, I mean. That it was somehow better because it was about them and not me. I admire a lot of things about Professor Snape, but not that.”

Kingsley sighed. “Well, now that you’ve explained it to me, I understand a bit better. But I do think that what you did is inexcusable. Auror Pollinac will have to have several teeth replaced. You’ll apologize to him tomorrow.”

Harry licked his teeth again. Here it came. “No, sir,” he said quietly.

Kingsley looked at him, and said nothing.

Harry knew that the silence was a way Kingsley used to trip unwary Aurors into explaining too much, but at the moment, Harry felt that he needed to fill it. _Not_ because he was unwary, but because he needed Kingsley to know and understand what he was doing.

“Pollinac insulted a fellow Auror,” he said. “And everyone else laughed. No one else was going to stand up for him, even though I’ve told people that I don’t think Auror Malfoy should be insulted. So I went after Pollinac. And now he might hate me, but I don’t think he’ll say anything about Auror Malfoy again.” He smiled at Kingsley. “And you might say that his hatred will cause dissension and division in the Department.” He was quoting from one of Kingsley’s speeches about the unofficial dueling contests that had gone on among the Aurors for a while. “But the same thing was happening with their hatred towards Auror Malfoy. He saved my life once in battle. Would he do the same thing for someone like Pollinac? I think that they’re being stupid, taunting someone whose wand they might need to depend on.”

Kingsley stared at him. Harry stared back.

“All right,” Kingsley said abruptly. “Say that I accept your arguments. What is to stop someone else from doing the same thing?”

“To avenge an insult?” Harry smiled. “If Auror Malfoy is stupid enough to say something like that, then he’ll deserve what he gets in return. And I hope that I would never say something like that without retribution falling on me, swift and certain. Ron would do it if no one else did. He’s grown up a lot,” he added, to the expression on Kingsley’s face.

Kingsley shook his head. “I hope that your example doesn’t unleash a wave of people doing the same thing with less justification, Auror Potter.”

Harry stood up and half-bowed to Kingsley. “I hope not, too. We need Aurors who work together, and this is the best way to ensure they do. Draw out the poison from the wound and show that it’s not going to be tolerated.”

“Your metaphor leaves something to be desired, considering that your method is apparently to inflict a bigger wound in the first place,” Kingsley said dryly, and then waved him out. Harry half-bowed again and left the office.

He met Malfoy in the corridor outside. It was possible that Malfoy was simply on his way to Kingsley with a report of his own, but Harry doubted it, especially considering the long, slow, soft look Malfoy sent him.

“Going to be sacked?” Malfoy asked quietly.

“No,” Harry said, letting his shoulders rise and fall without ever letting go of Malfoy’s eyes.

“Pity,” Malfoy said, in the distant tone that was typical of the way he interacted with other Aurors, and stepped into the office. Harry smiled. He knew that anyone else watching them would only see the cold bastard that Malfoy normally portrayed, and that was doubtless the way Malfoy wanted it. He didn’t want to become _popular_ or start looking as if he relied on Harry for protection.

But then, no one else would have seen his eyes.

*

“Spar with me.”

Potter started and looked over his shoulder. The far wall of the sparring room was a mass of cracks and pits and shallow holes, but he stared at Draco as though that didn’t matter, as though Draco wouldn’t have noticed. “What?”

“Spar with me.” Draco cast his cloak out of the way, because if he was going to duel Potter, then he would need every advantage he could get to make sure that he moved fast enough. He tossed his wand up in the air and caught it, smiling as he saw the way Potter’s eyes followed it. “Come on. Show me what you can do.”

Potter stood quite still a moment, body leaning on air. Draco took the moment to eye him. Potter had a strength that he didn’t often show when he was in Auror robes, as if they served the same purpose that his baggy Muggle clothes had in Hogwarts, to hide his body. But now he was stripped down to shirt and trousers, and his hair was disordered with sweat, and his eyes were dark.

Well, all right, Draco would have liked to see the last two things under less _dangerous_ circumstances. But he would take what he could get, and at the moment, Potter’s grim little smile appealed to him, too.

“Seriously, Malfoy?” Potter began to shift to the side, his eyes on Draco’s, his body quivering with something that looked like tension, looked like eagerness, smelled like passion. “You want to take me on, right now, knowing what you know?”

Draco nodded. “Everyone knows that Weasley’s in hospital, and everyone knows that you’re tearing yourself up about it because you didn’t stop the hex in time,” he drawled, forcing the right amount of insouciance into his voice to make Potter quiver some more. He liked watching it. He liked a lot of things about Potter at the moment, and in general this year, if he was being honest with himself. “And I know that you’re in here hexing nothing and it isn’t working. Come and get me, then.”

He posed, and it nearly cost him the duel. Potter rushed at him, and over his shoulder came the curse, cast from behind him so that Draco’s attention would be on his charge and not the actual threat.

Draco ducked awkwardly and heard more stone tear out of the wall behind him. He Transfigured the floor beneath Potter’s feet to water, wondering if it would slow him at all.

It didn’t. Potter leaped, and somersaulted, and unfolded in front of Draco with a grace that made his mouth water even as Potter struck out with one hand full of shimmering, translucent oil. Draco judged the hand aimed neatly parallel with his eyes, and knew what it would do if it struck: cling to his eyes and mouth, blinding and suffocating him.

He lurched backwards again, and Potter laughed. “Always retreating, Malfoy, never attacking?” he asked, and created a handful of the oil that flew at Draco separately from his body.

Draco ducked that, too, and from his position flat on the floor called tiny rustling scarab beetles, which climbed straight up Potter’s legs. Potter’s face took on a distant expression until the first bite, invisible because they were under his trousers. Then he laughed aloud and cast the charm that dismissed them, saying, “Well _done,_ Malfoy.”

Praise from Harry bloody Potter shouldn’t make Draco breathless and nearly hard. But it didn’t stop him, either, and that was the important thing. This time, he was the one to fling a handful of oil at Potter, the kind that would burn on contact. Potter pivoted, avoiding it, and turned that into his second attack on Draco, which became a handful of burning white dust, and crowded Draco’s eyes before he could evade.

Draco immediately slammed his eyes shut and cast _Aguamenti_ , washing his face clean. He emerged with no greater damage than a few boils around the nose and ears filled with the snapping and burning sound of the miniature sparks embedded in the dust.

He was aware that he was grinning, so widely that the dangers of Potter launching something into his mouth were rather great, and that his heart and his erection were both throbbing. He only hoped that Potter wouldn’t notice the latter.

But he no longer feared his comments if he did, either.

He flung his own hand out, and almost felt Potter turn to look at it before he cast the spell around the other, a tiny storm complete with thunder and lightning that would grow as it neared the victim and fill their world with noise and light and danger. It flew, and Potter wouldn’t be able to dodge it in time. Draco watched breathlessly—

And Potter spread his hands, and a dragon unfolded from them, long-bodied and desert-colored, and opened its mouth. The storm flew down its dry throat, and the dragon spun in place on itself and disappeared.

Only then, when no more spells came at him, did Draco realize how tired he was. He watched Potter slump over, hands on his knees, and wished he could do the same thing himself. But they weren’t yet in that place.

The _yet_ surprised him, and by the time he had finished dealing with his thoughts, Potter had straightened up and was staring at him speculatively. Draco inclined his head back and smiled slightly.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Potter said, facing the wall he’d nearly destroyed and repairing the holes he’d left with a few well-placed charms.

Draco nodded, realizing with an unexpectedly fierce ache that he would have to wait until Potter left and then quell both his erection and his desire for a repeat of the fight. They had helped each other—well, he had helped Potter—but the moment was over, as quick and fleeting as the time that he had saved Potter’s life or Potter had attacked Pollinac for him. Nothing where they were concerned could last forever.

But Potter paused in front of him instead of moving out of the room. Draco blinked and looked at him.

Potter leaned in, balanced on the balls of his feet as though it was important that he not touch Draco otherwise, and brushed his lips in a long, slow line across Draco’s left cheek, to his lips, to his right cheek. Then he drew back and nodded, more to himself than Draco.

“See you, Malfoy,” he said, and strode out, leaving Draco to stare after him in wonder and try, unsuccessfully, not to touch his face.


	2. Chapter 2

“But you’re sure you’re all right.”

Ron leaned back in his chair behind his desk and gave Harry a sweet smile. “I know that I’m perfectly all right to hit you as hard as I can if you ask me that one more time.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself, and leaned back in his own chair, tipping it so that he could rest his feet on the desk. He had cleared it of paperwork, for once, because he hadn’t had much else to do while Ron was in hospital, and his restless energy had needed an outlet.

One that _didn’t_ come from intense sparring sessions with Malfoy. Sure, that had been wonderful and exactly what he needed at the time, to fight someone who was his equal and would fight back, which the wall wouldn’t, but he couldn’t count on that every time. Even if he had secretly looked over his shoulder for Malfoy each time he went into the sparring room after that.

“Someone told me that you’d been spending a bit of time with Malfoy,” Ron said abruptly. He had his head bowed as though the reports that had piled up during his absence were fascinating, but Harry knew him, and could see the way that Ron’s cheeks puffed out and his hands tightened on the paper in front of him. “While I was in hospital, I mean. Is he thinking he could take my place?”

Harry laughed outright. “You think _Malfoy_ will ever be my best friend? Not likely, Ron. How many times have you saved my life by now? How many _things_ have we shared? Malfoy and I are barely polite to each other even if we _did_ save each other’s lives. My friend isn’t going to be someone I can barely exchange a single civil word with.”

Ron flushed and looked down, not really able to hide the pleasure that glinted in his eyes. Then he cleared his throat. “That’s not what I meant. Someone said…I mean, there were a few things you said, too, that made me think you might want him as your partner instead of me.”

Harry stared at him, then shook his head. He thought of the way Malfoy had come to him in the sparring room, and the looks that he sometimes gave Harry now, as if he still couldn’t believe that someone who would stand up for him existed. He thought of the way that Malfoy had nodded at him when he went to get tea that morning, his face briefly reflecting amusement. Harry had put it down to buttoning his robes wrong again, which always happened.

“No,” he said at last. “No, Ron, I don’t think so. It’s—maybe we’re getting a little more friendly, but I think I still mostly amuse him.”

“Do you?”

Harry started and looked up. Malfoy was leaning against the doorframe of the office, considering Harry with his eyes large and stormy and his arms folded so tightly that Harry could make out the muscles of his chest pulled into tight definition. There was no reason for him to be staring at that, though, and less reason for the tightness in his throat, so he looked up at Malfoy and raised his eyebrows instead.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Aren’t you the only one who can answer the question of whether I amuse you? Since you’re the only one who knows what goes on in your head.” He strove for a light tone, but he felt his skin pulling taut on the back of his neck nonetheless. Other than the times that one of them had helped the other in front of witnesses—and that when they were just as focused on the people attacking as on each other—this was the first time one of their little confrontations had happened with someone else in the room.

And it was strange. Not necessarily a bad kind of strange, but still, strange, in a way that made Harry shift from side to side and only stop when Ron cleared his throat behind him and Malfoy’s gaze sharpened still more.

“You don’t,” Malfoy said. “Except in the way that everyone does, because there are certain things that one can’t _help_ but find amusing.” He raised a brow, but didn’t look away from Harry as he added, “Don’t you agree, Weasley?”

Harry felt his throat drying out. He told himself it was only because he was thinking of a duel between Ron and Malfoy and how he would break it up, and how he didn’t want the responsibility.

He knew he was a liar.

“I don’t really _know_ , Malfoy,” Ron said, his voice deepening into a rumble. “I don’t think we’re likely to find the same things amusing.”

“Oh, that doesn’t strike me as true,” Malfoy said, finally sweeping his face away from Harry’s, and his eyes locked on Ron’s with much the same intensity. _Yes, it’s the same,_ Harry told himself, and didn’t fan his face, because that was _stupid_. “When it comes to Harry, I think what we think is amusing might be the same thing.”

“ _Harry_?” said Ron. Harry nearly repeated the word after him, but told himself that would look stupid and managed to keep it in by biting his lip. “Of course, if you want to take my place as his friend, you would say that—” He started to get up, despite the way that his legs swayed beneath him.

Harry turned and put his body in between them both. If he had to give his opinion on a fight between Malfoy and Ron right now, his opinion was that he would prefer it not to happen.

Malfoy caught his eye for a moment and gave him a funny smile. Then he said, “I’m perfectly in the right to call him what I want provided that I’m respectful, Auror Weasley,” and he turned away with an extra swagger to his step. Harry blinked, wondering if it was because he had irritated Ron or because he had been able to see Harry…

And wondering why he was wondering.

“Why did you let him _get away_ with that, mate?” Ron groaned, and dropped into his chair. “I nearly had him, you know. If he’d tried to thump me, I would have thumped _him!_ ”

Harry turned and looked at Ron until Ron cleared his throat and had the sense to look embarrassed. “You’re still trembling from the hex you took,” Harry pointed out. “Anyway, this is the way it works. Malfoy’s decided that he wants to be a little friendlier to me. Fine. As long as he doesn’t hurt me, then it’s fine. And you know that he never was any good at long-range planning.” He sort of hoped that Malfoy was lingering nearby to listen to that. “All his plans at Hogwarts when he tried to get me in trouble _sucked._ And look at the incompetent way he tried to kill Dumbledore. If I start choking on poisoned ale, then you have my permission to thump him, all right?”

“It wasn’t incompetent as a way of killing _me_ ,” Ron muttered, but sighed when he saw Harry’s glare. “Fine, mate. I just don’t know why you put up with him even this much.”

“Because,” Harry said, his eyes going back to the definitely empty doorway and the corridor behind it that might not be so definitely empty, “I want to.”

*

“What do _you_ want with the Wizarding World’s Savior, anyway?”

Draco snorted. He had expected a question like that before now, from Pollinac or one of the other incompetent Aurors who didn’t see him as one of them—well, maybe not from Pollinac, who was keeping a wary distance from Draco since Potter had attacked him—but it had come from Theo instead.

Draco looked up across their twin desks and at Theo, who was peering at him hostilely around the nearest stack of paperwork. Paperwork was always stacked there. Theo was no better about completing it to deadline than he had been about completing Hogwarts essays. “You sound like a _Daily Prophet_ reporter,” Draco said mildly. “Changing careers on me, _partner_?”

Theo scowled and looked at his hands. Draco concealed a sigh. It had all seemed like the perfect plan, years ago, before he knew how cowardly Theo was. Partner with the only other Slytherin to become an Auror. Have someone at his back who understood what he had been through and wouldn’t hex him. Those people were in remarkably short supply among their class of trainees.

And if Theo had cheated on a few of the exams to get through, well, so what? Draco had done the same. It was all people expected of him, and he did so like obeying expectations when they put him at an advantage. And he knew that he would stand up to the real test in the field, which was all that mattered.

Theo, though…well, he couldn’t. But he remained the only other Slytherin in the Aurors, and it was workable. So Draco stayed.

“I just want to know why you’re spending so much time hanging around Harry bloody Potter lately,” Theo muttered. “Because word’s spreading that you’re looking to assassinate him, and I’m not going to be party to that, okay? I’ve barely built my reputation back since the war.”

Draco snorted. “Why would I want to kill someone who actually stands up for me?”

“Because it insults your pride?”

Draco paused. That actually wasn’t a bad guess. But pride was so far from the feelings that ran through him when he looked at Potter that he had to think about it for, he knew, longer than he should have paused. Theo was staring at him.

“It would have insulted my pride, when I was younger and more stupid,” Draco said thoughtfully, leaning back against his chair and letting it swivel beneath him. That was the one thing he liked about the standard Auror furniture, the chairs that rolled and turned the way you wanted them to, without the aid of charms. Theo had whispered that they were adapted from Muggle designs, but Draco didn’t care. “Now, no. If it helps me survive and keep my job when certain people around me want me to lose it—”

“I never said I did!”

Draco eyed him sideways. “I wasn’t talking about you, Theodore. I was talking about the people who still think that Slytherins can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Oh, right.” Theo nodded. “ _Those_ bastards. I hate them.”

Draco concealed a sigh and went on. “It’s nice to know that _someone_ doesn’t mind if I’m there, and will defend me to others. It’s nice to have someone at my back I can trust who isn’t just my partner.”

He remembered the look in Potter’s eyes when Draco had stood in his office doorway, considering him, and gave a lazy smile despite himself. Yes, that had been _delicious,_ more than he had thought it would be.

“But you’re not going to do any more of it?” Theo asked. “I mean, you’ll stay away from him unless he actually saves your life again? All the debts are paid?”

Draco looked up. “He didn’t actually save my life,” he pointed out. “It was the other way around. These other times, he was standing up for me or refusing to let someone else insult me. And I’ll react to that the way I like, Theo. Unless you’re saying that I shouldn’t?” He let his voice fall and his hand drift towards his wand.

Theo winced. “No. No, I didn’t mean anything like that. I’m sorry.”

Draco sniffed and closed his eyes, deciding that he had other things to think about than Theo for right now. What Harry Potter would look like if Draco could get him alone and stare at him the way he had in the office, for instance, until Potter was red and spluttering and took some mad action to stop the staring.

_Perhaps I shouldn’t be thinking about that. But as long as it doesn’t interfere with my job, I see nothing wrong with it._

*

Harry hesitated as he passed the door of Malfoy and Nott’s office. It was open, and a steady stream of cursing came out of it, in a voice that Harry thought he would know now down to the depth of his bones.

It was probably nothing, he told himself. If he could recognize that voice, then he could also recognize the emotions in it, and Malfoy just sounded frustrated. Nothing more. Not angry, or hurt, or scared.

But he put his head around the door and knocked anyway.

Malfoy looked up. His face was bright pink, probably the closest it could get to red, and his hair hung around his ears in disarray, reminding Harry for a horrible moment of the way Bellatrix had looked. Then he shifted and held up a sheet of parchment in front of him, waving it around, and the resemblance vanished. Harry relaxed and smiled at him.

“What is it?” he asked, and although he didn’t think his voice sounded perfectly sympathetic, Malfoy used it as a springboard into his rant anyway.

“Fucking _Nott_ ,” he snarled. “He was supposed to sign this _bloody_ thing this morning so it could go on Shacklebolt’s desk by noon, and he’s nowhere to be _found!_ Not to mention that his half was riddled with errors that he _never checks,_ so I had to fix all of them! Who spells ‘hideous’ wrong every single time? I ask you.”

Harry started to open his mouth to ask if it was such a big deal if the report wasn’t on Kingsley’s desk by noon, and then winced and shut his mouth again. Yes, it was. Even he could see that, if he thought about it long enough. Kingsley kept a closer eye on those Aurors who had been prominent during the war, and closest of all on the one with a Dark Mark on his arm. Something that wouldn’t matter for Harry or Ron or half a dozen other Aurors would be another mark on the record against Malfoy.

“Is his signature the only thing you need?” he asked.

Malfoy snapped his open mouth shut again and stared at Harry for a few seconds. Then he leaned back in his chair and gave a cool little smile. “What, is Powerful Potter here to save me from the curse of an incompetent partner?” he asked. “Sweet of you, Potter, but short of dragging Nott back here from the Azores, where he appears to have gone, there’s nothing you can do.”

“There is so,” Harry said, and drew his wand. He didn’t miss the way Malfoy tensed, but then, the last time he had seen Harry with it out was during their mock duel, which felt less mock to Harry every time he thought about it. He ignored the flinch the way he had ignored the taunts, and asked, “How does Nott usually sign his name? Legible, illegible? With his full first name, or as Theo?”

“I’ll show you,” Malfoy said abruptly, and pulled a sheaf of parchments out of a neat drawer. He fanned them out before Harry, and Harry bent down, blinking a few times as he studied the scrawl, neat on the first name—yes, the full Theodore—and then narrowing down to an illegible point on the last “t.”

“Got it,” Harry said, and turned to face the report that Malfoy was agonizing over. “Where was he supposed to sign?”

Malfoy stared up at him with his lips slightly parted, and Harry found himself gazing back in a way that even he knew was more intense than it should have been. Harry smiled slightly. “Trust me?” he whispered.

Malfoy swallowed, didn’t say anything, licked his lips, nodded.

Harry nodded back, and then swirled his wand over and down in the motion that Hermione had spent such a long time teaching him, and only after they were out of Hogwarts and she was assured that he wouldn’t copy homework anymore. “ _Scriptionem creo!_ ”

The parchment beneath his wand flashed, and so did the original parchment with Nott’s signature. In seconds, ink flowed out of Harry’s wand and splashed over the place where Nott was supposed to sign like a paintbrush guided by an artist, reforming and copying the letters down to the last flourish.

Harry relaxed his concentration only when he was sure that the signature was perfect. It wasn’t a particularly challenging spell, but it took a lot of focus, since it drew on the caster’s own memory of the signature, and an imperfect memory would result in an imperfect copy.

“There you go,” he started to say, glancing up.

Malfoy’s gaze was locked on his face with the muscles tight around the eyelids, and Harry started to freeze, wondering if Malfoy suspected—what? That Harry had done this to copy Ron’s signature several times, that Harry might use this to forge something against him, that maybe Harry was getting away with stealing money from the Ministry?

Instead, Malfoy said, “This wasn’t a life or death situation. It wasn’t even a situation where someone insulted me. It was just a situation where I was annoyed.” He sounded as if he was talking to himself.

“Right,” Harry said tentatively.

Malfoy stood up and circled the desk. Harry told himself not to raise his wand, because if Malfoy could trust Harry to point _his_ wand in more or less his general direction and not curse him, Harry should be able to trust an unarmed Malfoy.

Instead, Malfoy’s hand encircled his wrist and rubbed his fingers up and down the pulse. “You did this to help me,” he said. “Not because it could _possibly_ make you look like a hero.”

“I did it for the same reason the other times, too,” Harry snapped, and started to pull away.

Malfoy retained his hand with such an easy, natural gesture that Harry found himself unable to resent it, and settled for looking at him instead, watching as Malfoy brought the hand to his mouth. Harry flushed, but instead of kissing the back, Malfoy ran his tongue lazily along Harry’s knuckles, watching him all the while.

Harry had to close his eyes for a moment.

“Good,” Malfoy said, his voice light and quiet.

*

Draco stepped into Potter’s office. He had reason to believe that Potter was in and Weasley out, or he would have carried on walking past.

But Weasley was the only one in, and before Draco could speak, he was on his feet with a wand pointing in Draco’s general direction. Draco watched it, and confined his breathing to the same easy pace that he had used when he first came in. The last thing he intended to do, in any world they lived in, was to show Weasley that he was afraid of him.

“You came here looking for Harry, didn’t you.” Weasley didn’t make it a question. He moved around to the side of his desk, and then stopped there. Draco didn’t smile because that wouldn’t be wise, but it did _seem_ as though Weasley was afraid to approach him. He watched the blood traitor’s eyes and wand and hands, and said nothing.

“You’re always after him now,” Weasley said, too softly for anyone walking or waiting in the corridor to overhear them. “Don’t think that I can’t see what you’re doing. You’re waiting for him to venture too far, and then you’ll convince him that he’s in love with you and you’ll take over his life. Well, I won’t allow that. You’re not going to reject him, abandon him, leave him pining.”

Draco snorted in spite of himself then, and Weasley’s eyes fixed on him. Draco shook his head. “If you think Potter is capable of _pining,_ then you don’t really know him.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t,” Weasley said, looking more than a little relieved that Draco was speaking to him, as if that somehow made things better. “You’re the one who doesn’t know the way he pined over Ginny, when he found out they wouldn’t get married.”

Draco smiled lazily at him. “That was what he did then, when you knew him, when he was first your partner. Now? Do you think that you know him as well as I do?”

“Draco.”

The word went through Draco like a thrown spear. He had been waiting for Potter to say that to him, and he wished it hadn’t happened in front of Weasley. He turned around and met Potter’s eyes for a few moments, silent, absorbing, drinking, and watching the way that Potter looked from him to Weasley with a faint frown, as though wondering why they were in the same room together.

Then Draco nodded and said, “I came to bring you news. That prat Tusker’s had it out for you ever since you attacked Pollinac. Now he’s planning to set up a trap for you.” He reached into his pocket, aware of the way that Weasley’s wand behind him wavered and then pointed, and that Potter watched his face more than his hand. “He’ll leak a few secrets about the Department’s recent cases to the press, and the note he’s planning to send is in your handwriting. This is a copy.”

“A _copy_?” Weasley burst out. “Why didn’t you bring the original, you bastard? Assuming any of this is true?”

“Tusker would have known it was gone.” Potter was the one who spoke, although his mind resonated so much in tune with Draco’s that they were nearly the same words he would have chosen. “And this way, Draco is leaving it up to me to choose what I want to do with the information, rather than making the decision for me. Isn’t that right?” He looked at Draco with calm, patient eyes, and stepped forwards, reaching out for the parchment.

“Yes,” Draco said. “That’s the way it is.” He brushed the last two fingers of his hand along Potter’s palm as he handed the note over. Potter stiffened a little, and his nostrils flared. He couldn’t keep himself away from the glance that he cast down Draco’s body, and Draco wouldn’t have wanted him to. He smiled lazily and moved for the door.

“How can you know that he didn’t write it himself, Harry?” Weasley asked. “Since the charm copies your handwriting _anyway_.”

“I know it,” Potter said, and Draco turned his head for a glimpse of him reading the parchment, because that was what he wanted, and he doubted that Potter would begrudge him that.

Weasley was meeting his eyes with a literal snarl on his face, though, and Draco decided that he didn’t want his glimpses ruined by sights like that. He gave a fastidious shudder and passed through their office door, back out into the corridor.

He had done his good deed for the day. As Potter had said, what he did with the information was up to him.

*

Kingsley was the one who had sent out the Patronus to summon Draco. Now Draco walked into the courtroom with his head up and his shoulders back, his robes flowing gracefully around him, the silver lynx pacing in front of him. It was easy, Harry thought, to miss the signs of nervousness if you didn’t look for them: the fixed nature of his smile, for example, or the way that Draco took a seat on the very edge of the witness’s chair.

“At ease, Auror Malfoy,” Kingsley said, although he still frowned at him. “We brought you here to question you about the part Auror Potter says you played in his accusations against Auror Tusker.” Tusker scowled from the far side of the courtroom; his face was bristly and jowly, suitable to his name. “What I want to know is if you’re willing to testify.”

Draco’s head rose a little, and his hands splayed across his lap, fingers loose and shining. Harry tried not to picture those fingers on his body, because it would cause him to pay too little attention to what anyone was saying. “Yes,” Draco said.

Kingsley had opened his mouth to continue explaining exactly what Tusker had accused Harry of, but now he shut it and stared at Draco. “That’s a very quick agreement, Auror Malfoy,” he said at last, voice heavy, “when you don’t know what you’re promising.”

“I know who Auror Tusker is,” Draco said, and his eyes darted across the room. “And I know who Auror Potter is.” He turned back to Harry, his face relaxing in all the right ways to make Harry want to shift and clear his throat. “And I think I know what this is about.”

Kingsley blinked. Harry realized suddenly that he had never thought Harry’s accusations against Tusker would come to anything, that he had been sure Harry was lying from the beginning about the parchment Draco had brought him with the Department secrets on it.

 _Then why grant me the trial?_ Harry thought, but followed that up with the answer a moment later. _Because I’m Harry, that’s why._

He stifled his sigh, and waited for Kingsley to catch his breath and resume his place in the trial proceedings. Kingsley shuffled his papers and his feet and finally said, “Ahem. Yes. So. It is Auror Potter’s claim that you brought him a piece of parchment with his own handwriting on it, but claimed that Auror Tusker had actually written it. Can you tell us the contents of that piece of parchment?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, sitting up and smiling at Harry for a whole second before he turned back to Kingsley. “It concerned the placement of the Department’s new wards around the holding cells, and which particular criminals we intended to go after next. Do you want me to recite their names?”

Kingsley paused again. Then he said, “Yes, Auror Malfoy.”

 _Still testing,_ Harry thought, and kept himself from touching his wand with an effort. _Always testing, always making sure that Draco is who he is says he is and that he’s not a Death Eater, even though he should bloody well_ know _that by now. Draco’s not going to make the kind of mistakes that get him caught and sacked. Even if he does think that he would, Kingsley is looking all the wrong places._

Draco tilted his head, and Harry dared to hope that he might have caught the edge of that thought, despite telepathy not being real. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Charles Lincoln, who calls himself the Salsford Strangler. Romulus, or the Avenger of Werewolves, if you go by the name that he gives himself. Laurette Giddens, whose crimes are speculative at the moment, but—”

“That will be _sufficient_ ,” Kingsley said, as if he wasn’t the one who had asked Draco to demonstrate his knowledge of the names in the first place. He shuffled some more parchments on the table, and then turned to Tusker. “So far, their knowledge of what they claim has happened seems authentic, Auror Tusker. What is your counterclaim?”

Tusker stared at Harry in silence. Harry looked back without comment. Tusker was Pollinac’s partner, and on the one hand, it made sense that he would want to avenge the kind of insult to his partner that Harry had dealt.

On the other, a piece of bigoted shit like Pollinac wasn’t worth defending. And a plan to spread Auror secrets to the press was _stupid,_ no matter what the motive.

After a moment, Tusker swallowed and looked down, and said, “No, sir. It was—the way they said it was.”

“It _was_?” Harry sincerely hoped that Kingsley’s incredulity came from the fact that Tusker was admitting it instead of trying to come up with a lie, and not from the fact that what Harry and Draco said might be true.

Tusker shrugged. He had never been good at making up lies on the spot, which was one reason Harry had demanded formal proceedings for his complaint. “It’s true, sir. Sorry.” He looked up then, and his eyes went straight to Draco. “But we never should have employed someone like him, sir. _Never._ He corrupts all good Aurors.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Kingsley said, and it really sounded like he would. He shook his head and turned back to Harry. “Your claim is upheld, Auror Potter, and Auror Tusker will be reprimanded. Thank you for your time and help, Auror Malfoy. Dismissed.”

Harry stood up and nodded to both Tusker and Kingsley, then turned towards the door of the small courtroom where Kingsley always held this kind of thing. He didn’t dare look at Draco. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop.

But Draco followed him, and the hand that touched the middle of his back, then between his shoulder blades, made Harry _burn._ He swallowed and stepped into the first open room he came to. Luckily, it was an interrogation room not in use at the moment.

Draco followed him, and shut the door.

Harry turned to face him, not at all sure what he would see on Draco’s face, although he could think of all sorts of things he _wouldn’t_ welcome. But Draco was simply watching him with wide-open eyes, which Harry couldn’t help feeling pleased by. He didn’t think he’d ever had so much of Draco’s attention outside a Quidditch game before.

“You know that Shacklebolt despises me,” Draco said.

“And he shouldn’t,” Harry said. “You’re a _good_ Auror, and if you can get past the grudges that prevailed in school, then anyone can. Especially since they like to say that they’re better people than you are anyway.”

Draco gave him a sideways smile and said, “Why would you think I’m a good Auror? I don’t work well enough with my partner to get his signature on vital documents. I could have saved your life because I knew you were the most powerful wizard in the room, and our best hope to survive that battle.”

Harry shook his head. He felt lightly odd, and oddly light, especially in the back of his head. “You also had good enough investigative skills to make a copy of Tusker’s note without him realizing what you were doing, and to find out that he intended to frame me in the first place. You can get along with me, and you’ve managed your partner well so far. And you didn’t get angry when Ron insulted you the other day. That means you can be diplomatic.”

“They might be right anyway,” Draco said thoughtfully.

“Because of your past?” Harry sneered at him and shook his head. “Then I would have to despise myself for using Unforgivable Curses during the war. I don’t. It was what I did at the time, and I wouldn’t do it again, and I’m glad that it’s over, but it doesn’t define me forever, either that guilt or the lack of it.”

“No,” Draco said. “Because of my desires, and some of the things I want.” He stepped nearer and trailed his fingers down Harry’s cheek.

Harry swallowed, tilting his head back to consider Draco, and launched himself out into space. “You never know. Sometimes people want the same things.”

“Not always,” Draco said, and then he bowed his head and kissed Harry, one hand coming to rest in the middle of his back again, the other urging his head further down and up against the wall, until the angle hurt Harry’s neck.

Harry gasped aloud and kissed back, shoving his tongue down and past Draco’s, stroking into his mouth until Draco close-to choked, and stepped back, panting and staring at him. Harry reached up and stroked Draco’s chin, touched with a thin string of saliva.

Draco swallowed, and half-bowed his head, and said, “What I want and what you want aren’t always the same thing. You might be the only one around here who thinks I’m a good Auror.”

“I know,” Harry said. “And I wish they would open their eyes and _look_. Being a good Auror has to do with good investigative skills and good fighting skills and a devotion to the duty. Someone like Tusker who leaks secrets isn’t a good one, no matter how unmarked his arms are.”

Draco’s eyes flashed open, and Harry wondered, somewhere deep under the surface where Draco wouldn’t see it and hate him for it, how long Draco had been waiting to hear someone say that.

“I—know,” Draco said. “But precious few people do.” He trailed his fingers down the side of Harry’s neck, and then smiled and stepped away from him. “How long can you wait for what you want?”

Harry blinked, then grinned. Draco wanted to play it that way, did he? Well, Harry didn’t exactly blame him. People would be suspicious that Draco had some sort of control over him—hell, they already were—if they slept together too quickly. And the longer they waited, the more chance he had to make people see that Draco was a good Auror, and a good man.

And there was more time for this thrill between them, this burn, this thing like a hot spiderweb tugging tight.

“A bloody long time,” he said, and let his hand brush Draco’s as he moved towards the door. “Just not forever.”

“No one can wait that long,” Draco said, and lingered behind as Harry opened the door, so that no one would see them leaving together.

Harry nodded to him without looking back, and then walked towards his own office, where Ron would be waiting to hear the results of his confrontation with Tusker. His legs felt lighter and more flexible than usual, and he was walking with a strange sway in his step, as though he and Draco had already fucked.

Because that was all Draco was talking about, surely. People would despise him for his desires because they would think that he was corrupting their precious Savior.

But another thought tickled at the back of his mind, another wish for what Draco could want, and it tickled up and down and wouldn’t hush, even though Harry couldn’t have put it into words if he tried.

*

“ _Imperio_.”

The moment he heard the word, or at least the moment between when he heard the word and when his thoughts fled, Draco knew he had made a mistake to underestimate Theo. Someone could be a coward and still take risks, if forced into it or because he thought there was something greater to be gained.

And apparently, facing Draco’s ultimatum that he change his behavior or Draco would find a different partner was one of the two.

Draco stood up when Theo told him to. His mind felt odd, both heavy and bendy at the same time, he thought, like carrying a gallon of water around in his skull. Theo stepped up to him and pushed his wand into his hand.

“I knew this would probably come to it,” Theo whispered. “They’ll ask you questions about why you want to stop being partners with me, and they’ll put you under Veritaserum and ask the questions that you wouldn’t know how to ask, and—oh, I know how it is. They’ll ask you, and you’ll answer, and they’ll _know_.”

Draco thought, somewhere in the back of his head, behind the water, that Theo must have been doing something else, something that would disturb the Aurors if they found out about it, something that Theo thought he’d noticed little bits of here and there. And now Theo was going to execute him so that Draco couldn’t tell the secrets that he might or might not have known. If Draco had had control of his body, he would have snorted. In some ways, Theo and the Aurors who hated him were on the same side.

“It has to look like an accident,” Theo whispered, backing up and turning his head feverishly around the office. “Where?”

Draco stood there, passive, his mind swimming, and could say nothing, because Theo hadn’t told him to. That turned out to be an asset when the door opened soundlessly behind Theo and Potter stepped through.

Theo hadn’t been a Slytherin or through Auror training for nothing, though. He stiffened, then whipped around and cried out, “ _Imperio!”_ again.

The spell hit Potter. Potter smiled, and stepped through it. But the smile was more like a grimace of pure fury when seen close, and Draco found himself glad that he wasn’t Theo as he watched Potter Stun him and lay him down on the floor of the office. It was only too clear that Potter wanted to do other things to Theo, and wasn’t going to allow himself to.

Then Potter came to him and touched Draco’s forehead as he gently whispered, “ _Finite_.”

Draco relaxed, grimacing, and then reached up and curved his hand around Potter’s jaw and kept him there. “How did you know?” he whispered.

Potter waited patiently until Draco had released his jaw before he tried to speak. “You always walk to lunch at this time,” he said. “I needed to speak to you. And then you didn’t come, and I had seen Nott get back a little while ago, and there was that thunderstorm feeling you get in the air when someone does an Unforgivable Curse.” He turned and stared at Nott, and Draco took a firmer, more restraining grip on him.

“You shouldn’t kill him,” he murmured. “And I want to know what you mean by _that thunderstorm feeling._ ”

Potter turned and blinked at him. “You can’t feel it? I can’t believe that. You _must_. Everyone does. It’s a tightening on your skin and a popping in your eardrums. It makes you feel as if you’re about to go swimming in tar. You have to feel it,” he added, a little uncertainly, when Draco shook his head and stepped closer to him.

“I don’t have to,” Draco whispered in his ear, “to believe that you do. And to thank you for saving me.”

He didn’t kiss Potter, although by the way Potter lifted his head and parted his lips, he seemed to be expecting that. Draco just ran his fingers up and down Potter’s jaw until Potter shifted uncomfortably, and then stepped back and bent down to pick up his wand, which he had dropped earlier. “We’ll need to talk to Shacklebolt,” he said.

Potter grimaced. “And this will only make him think that he was right all along, and Slytherins shouldn’t be Aurors. Fuck.” He glanced at Draco. “This is going to make everything harder for you. I’m sorry.”

“I can endure,” Draco said. “It does mean that I’ll be without a partner for a short time, though, and that’s harder for me. I can make more of a mark when I’m out in the field, earn more people looking at me.”

Potter’s smile was tired, but still reached his eyes. “And that’s what you care about, of course. Stubborn Slytherin.”

“You do understand me,” Draco said, and let some of the real warmth show in his eyes and face.

Potter smiled back, flustered and flushing, and then turned to bend over Theo again. Immediately, he resembled an Auror again, and Draco could have forgotten that he had seen him blush, if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to. He watched Potter’s arse on the leisurely walk to Shacklebolt’s office, and composed, in his head, the words of explanation he would give, and the words of persuasion. Nothing too open at first. Nothing too pressing.

But he would put the words out there, and he would glance at Potter sometimes, and see if he could make him blush. Then he would let Shacklebolt’s suspicions do the rest.

It would take some time. He would have to resign himself to not working in the field until then, he thought, because Shacklebolt’s other suspicions went too far.

But he would have what he was increasingly convinced he wanted, at last.


	3. Chapter Three

“I just want you to tell me exactly what you think of him.”

Harry blinked and folded his arms, and then knew that he had looked defensive and that probably wasn’t the best way to convince Ron that he wasn’t romantically interested in Draco. Even though sometimes he thought he was, and then Draco would smile and kiss his fingertips and pull away. The “waiting” that he wanted to do was torturous to Harry, but it was the only thing he had really asked for, and Harry wanted to oblige him with it.

“You’re thinking about __him__ again,” Ron said dangerously, prowling around the side of Harry’s desk the way Harry had really only seen Draco prowl up to this point. “So I think I’m owed an answer to my question.”

Harry didn’t duck his head and pull nervously at his fringe, but it was a real effort. Instead, he took a deep breath, licked his lips, and said, “Ron…”

“ _ _Tell me.__ ”

“Is Weasley bothering you, Potter?” That came from the office doorway behind Harry, and without looking Harry knew he would see Draco standing there if he glanced over his shoulder, flicking his wand idly back and forth at the end of his long fingers, his gaze fastened on Ron’s face and nothing else.

Because he knew what Draco would look like so accurately, Harry didn’t turn around to face him, but instead caught Ron’s arm before he could go after Draco. And he could feel Draco’s gaze narrowing and sharpening on __that__ contact, too, as if he was trying to figure out by looking the exact amount of pressure Harry was putting on Ron with his hold. It was things like that that reassured Harry, now and then, that Draco might actually have some kind of interest in him.

“It’s all right, Draco,” Harry said quietly, deliberately not raising his voice. “We were just having a discussion about you. It’s right that you be included in it.”

“You call him __Draco__ ,” Ron said, and tore himself loose, turning his back as he went over to his desk. “That’s all I need to hear.”

Harry stared helplessly at his back. Ron was turning out to be—well, not prejudiced. After all, Harry had always known that he disliked Draco, and he had gone along and helped Draco anyway. But he was turning out to be more stubborn about the idea that Harry and Draco might be friendly than Harry had ever thought he would be.

__Between him and Kingsley, it’s like they really would prefer that Nott would have harmed Draco, or Tusker would have harmed me._ _

“I wouldn’t call it a discussion,” Draco said, in a musing voice, as if it was the kind of thing he said to himself every night before bed. “That term usually requires at least some maturity of mind on behalf of __both__ participants.”

That brought Ron spinning around again, the way that Harry thought it might, and he stood up and got between Draco and Ron. But Ron didn’t have his wand in hand, and Harry relaxed a little.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Ron said starkly, staring at Draco. “Even if Harry doesn’t, I do.”

“If you’re going to accuse him of seducing me or something,” Harry began. That seemed to be the popular thing to do lately, to stir and mutter that Draco was corrupting the Boy-Who-Lived and converting him to his point-of-view. Harry had thought that the people around him trusted him more than that, frankly.

“No,” Ron said. “I’m accusing him of trying to make you his partner.”

Harry blinked, then said, “Partner, boyfriend, lover, what the fuck does it matter what term you use?”

“It does, in fact, matter to me,” Draco said, in the voice of someone almost painfully polite this time. “But I don’t think that’s what the redhead means, Harry.” He stepped up beside Harry, and this time Harry looked at him. Draco had his fingers pressed against his lips, and his gaze on Ron was almost pensive. “I think he means that he conceives of me as wanting __us__ to be partners. Auror partners.”

Harry stared, then laughed. “But that’s ridiculous.”

Draco glanced at him, face and eyes unreflective, shining mirrors. “Do you think so.” No inflection on the voice, no limit to what the words might mean.

“As if you would want to work with __me__.” Harry gestured with one hand that swung around the room, something reeling and drunken in his head. “It’s all right for you to flirt with me, or for us to help each other, but we would be disasters in the field together. And Ron is my partner, and we’ve worked well together for years. Why would he think that I would let that change?”

Draco stared at him, and there was something raw and cut on his face that Harry didn’t understand. He wanted to stop, say he was sorry, take the words back, but Ron was speaking, and his words were a different kind of cutting.

“He wants you for that, __too__ , mate. Can’t you see? Everyone else can. His eyes are on you all the time, and I __know__ I’m not the only one who’s watched him trying to match you in the practice duels, even when he’s fighting another partner. He wants to take you away from me, the way he did when we were kids. It’s just the terms that have changed.”

Harry turned back to Draco. Honestly, he was tired of making guesses about where they stood, and maybe getting things wrong. He didn’t think Ron was simply right, by any stretch of the word, but he wanted to _know_.

“Do you want to date me?” he asked, staring into Draco’s eyes.

A muscle jumped in Draco’s throat as he stared at Harry. Then he jerked his head down. Harry caught his breath. The cut look hadn’t altered, as though Draco was a statue that someone had just begun to sculpt and expose to the wind. His bravery in doing this in front of Ron was something Harry knew he would have to struggle to understand.

Harry stepped towards him. “Do you want to—be in bed with me?” He could have used cruder euphemisms, but honestly, fucking wouldn’t matter to him much without feelings behind it.

Draco captured his hand as he’d done several times now. He smoothed his fingers down the back of it as though he was tracing the knuckles the way he once had with his tongue, then turned it over and touched the center of Harry’s palm. Harry had to close his eyes as the tingling invaded his arm, moving up towards his shoulder. It felt so _intense_. He didn’t know how Draco had kept it to small gestures so far.

He was so involved in sorting out his feelings and sensations that he hardly heard Draco’s strangled answer. “Yes.”

Harry blinked hard, forcing his eyes open, and asked, “Do you want me to be your Auror partner?”

“Yes.”

Harry swallowed. So that meant Ron’s accusation was true, then.

But it didn’t mean that _his_ were.

“Do you think we would be terrible together in the field?” he asked Draco, studying him. “We’re both strong duelists, I know that from the way we can fight each other, and you’re good and quick in battle. But fighting side-by-side, and doing investigations, is different than duels in a sparring room.” Ron’s comment about Draco trying his hardest to match Harry in the practice sessions was a little worrying. If they were partners, they couldn’t be competing with each other all the time.

“ _Harry_!” Ron squawked, but Harry was physically incapable of looking at him.

“I don’t think we’d be terrible together.” Draco’s voice was so steady now that Harry marveled at it. The exposed look on his face was still there, but now, he thought someone who didn’t know it had started out that way wouldn’t notice that. Again, Draco’s fingers stroked Harry’s palm, and then he slid his hand up under Harry’s sleeve, touching the place where he would have had a Dark Mark if he was born in a different world. “We can complement each other. We _know_ we can save each other’s lives. We’d have to practice to learn how to work together instead of apart or in competition, but didn’t you have to do that with every new partner?”

“I’ve only had Ron as a partner.”

“And I only had Theo.” Draco’s voice was sharp, but it softened, probably because he saw how much he’d startled Harry. “It doesn’t mean that we can never change, that we can never be better than we are—”

“It means that you want to take Harry away from me!”

Harry turned and looked at Ron. Ron stared back at him, arms folded, shivering a little as if someone had cast a Winter Wind Curse directly at him.

Harry studied his partner, and it was as if he was seeing all the past five years at once, rushing past them like water. Ron was a great best friend. He made Harry laugh. He had stood by Harry through so many battles that Harry couldn’t remember all their names, or even which scars had come from which ones. When he’d got injured, Harry had almost broken the sparring room over his grief and anger before Draco found him.

But they weren’t the best Auror partners either, he and Ron. They argued about paperwork, and they were late with it often. They could investigate, sure, but all too often, they made breakthroughs on their own and then told the other one about it instead of talking it through. And Ron couldn’t match Harry—or Draco—in a duel or fighting prowess.

But none of those would have weighed as heavily if Harry hadn’t realized at that moment that he _did_ want Draco as his partner, and lover, and other things, and Ron absolutely wouldn’t stand for that.

“Ron,” Harry began.

“You’re going to tell me that you’re going to leave.” Ron’s tone was flat, totally betrayed.

“Is there something you need to tell me about your relationship with Weasley?” Draco muttered into his ear.

Harry glared back at him, then faced Ron. “Ron,” he said. “Are you going to listen to me?”

“I’m listening.” Ron was still in the room, at least, even if his tight shoulders and the way he stared at the far wall meant that Harry couldn’t really be sure that he would pay attention to anything Harry said.

“Auror partners is something we don’t _have_ to be,” Harry said. “You know that they didn’t even test us the way they did the others in our class when it came time to pair up? They just assumed that of _course_ you and I would be compatible, since we were friends.” He took a step away from Draco, despite how hard that was, and turned Ron gently around with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not saying that I regret the last five years. And I meant it when I said that you’re _always_ going to be my best friend.”

Ron sighed. Thank Merlin, he was less volatile than he used to be when they were teenagers. His eyes glinted, but at least he was there, with Harry, instead of storming off, the way he’d sometimes used to handle disagreements. “You’re saying that you want him as a partner, but you don’t want him as a best friend.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Ron tapped his fingers on his wand and stared past Harry at Draco. “And you don’t think that he’s seducing and corrupting you?”

Harry had to snort. “He’s doing a piss-poor job of the corruption. The seducing, though…” He looked at Draco from the corner of his eye, and had to smile at the look Draco was giving him. “That might be working.”

Ron sighed again. Then he said, “I didn’t—it wasn’t that I didn’t _enjoy_ working with you, Harry.”

Harry nodded encouragingly.

“But it wasn’t—I thought it was irreplaceable, but it wasn’t.” Ron frowned as though he was trying to make sense of that. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, I would watch other partners working together, and I would wonder why we didn’t have the same connection between us. We’d worked together so long, we should have done better on investigations than we did.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the work we did,” Harry said softly. “But there was nothing spectacularly right about it, either.”

Ron nodded slowly. Harry could see the glint in his eyes turning into something else. He was interested in how much better he could do with a partner who might cover his back better in battle, and work as another set of eyes and ears with him. “Yeah, all right. I—don’t think that I’ll be the one to file the paperwork with Kingsley, though.”

Harry had to smile. “Don’t worry. I’m the one who wants to take up with Draco, so I’ll do it. He can’t be much more irritated with me than he already is.”

“Want to wager on that?” Draco murmured, and made Harry shiver.

“If you’re going to start whispering into each other’s ears and all that, then get _out_ of here,” said Ron, and flapped a hand at them, and turned away shaking his head and saying something about Hermione and lunch and home that Harry didn’t have to catch. He was too exhilarated that he had achieved what he wanted with Draco without ruining his oldest friendship.

He turned around and looked up at Draco. “Come with me to Kingsley’s office to file the paperwork?” he asked.

Draco slid his hand back up under Harry’s sleeve and smiled at him. “I don’t think that’s an offer I can refuse. Harry.”

*

“This is highly _irregular_ , Auror Malfoy.”

It was strange, how all of Draco’s fear seemed to have burned to ashes today. He had always stepped warily around the Head Auror, kept his head down, turned in his reports on time, covered for Theo’s mistakes, done what he was told. Even coming to testify against Auror Tusker had been, essentially, doing what he was told. He had thought it was part of the price for being a Slytherin and a former _Death Eater_ in the Aurors, of making people ignore him.

But there was a limit to how much he was willing to ignore and put up with, and he had reached it today.

“You understood when Harry explained it to you, sir. I know you did. We’re going to put in to transfer partners.”

“That leaves Auror Weasley without a partner!”

“I believe that he’ll ask around and find someone compatible with him,” Draco said calmly. Weasley was a solid Auror, not as respected as Harry was, but then again, Harry had been right; he and Weasley _hadn’t_ had a stellar investigation record as a partnership. Harry was respected for his battle skills, Weasley for his dogged persistence and his ability to lighten the tension in a room. There would be someone, maybe a trainee just coming _out_ of the training, who would be thrilled to work with him.

Shacklebolt spent a moment scraping at the desk with his fingernails as if Draco was being exasperating on purpose. Then he said abruptly, “We found out that Auror Nott was Imperiusing some of the prisoners bound for Azkaban and selling them instead.”

Draco stared. “As slaves, sir?”

“Some. Others as Potions ingredients.”

The loathing and rage in the Head Auror’s eyes made Draco wonder for an instant if his request was doomed. Shacklebolt must be thinking right now that he couldn’t trust Slytherins no matter what happened.

But then Shacklebolt glanced to the side, and exhaled slowly. “Maybe I _haven’t_ given you a fair chance. We questioned Nott under Veritaserum. He confirmed that you weren’t working with him or covering for him.”

Draco only nodded, while a silent rebellion took place in his breast.

“But if you had noticed something and come to me…I might have dismissed it as you just wanting to get a fellow Auror in trouble,” Shacklebolt said, heavily, reluctantly. He turned back to Draco and stared at him. “Harry’s taught me a lesson that I know I’ll do well to heed. I can’t afford to have prejudice clouding my judgment when I’m leading the Aurors.” He spent a moment raking his fingers through his hair, and muttered to himself, “Even if it seems to be prejudice for a damnably good reason.”

Draco let Shacklebolt have almost a full minute of staring mournfully at the wall before he prompted, “Then Auror Potter and I can be partners, sir?”

Shacklebolt started. “What? Oh, yes, you can.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you for—the part you played in my lesson.”

Draco knew better than to smirk where Shacklebolt could see. He nodded back, a small smile on his lips, and then slipped out of the office and towards the Floo. Harry had been dismissed by Shacklebolt earlier, and said that he would go home and get some rest.

But he’d also pressed a piece of paper with his Floo address on it into Draco’s hand, along with a soft kiss against his lips.

Draco had a celebration to attend.

*

It took a long dinner, which Harry cooked because he wanted to, and a long evening of talking about what they were going to do now that they were Auror partners, and a long digression about the disgusting crimes of Theodore Nott, for Harry to be certain what the right move was.

But now Draco was toying with the last of the wine he’d brought with him, and not looking at Harry, but occasionally glancing at the Floo, and Harry remembered that this wasn’t _all_ about what Draco wanted. Some of it was what he wanted, too.

“I should—” Draco began.

“Come over here and kiss me.”

Draco could gawk when he wanted to, Harry thought as he grinned up at Draco from the couch. But he would probably say it was a very _refined_ and _pureblood_ way of gawking.

He could also put down the glass of wine in a place where it probably wouldn’t spill, back from the edge of Harry’s end table, and cross the space between them at a decent speed. He could lock his lips on Harry’s and dart his tongue down his throat, and Harry could wrap his hands around Draco’s shoulders with a shudder and feel the muscles shifting there, and think this was what he hadn’t known he wanted.

They kissed for a long time in front of the fireplace, Draco pressing Harry on the cushions, and then Harry rolling over so he was straddling Draco’s lap. Only when they ended up with Harry pinned, head dangling, over the arm of the couch did Draco draw back. Harry blinked at him, head drunk with warmth, and wondered why he’d stopped.

“Perhaps upstairs,” Draco began.

Harry grinned. “Well, _yeah_ ,” he said. “That’s a good reason to stop the kiss.” And he took Draco’s hand and led him up the stairs to the place where he’d slept alone since he broke up with Ginny.

After all, he rather thought it was time.

*

Draco only caught a glimpse of Harry’s bedroom—dark-paneled walls, a mirror on the front of a huge wardrobe, a bed that sprawled massively under thick blue sheets—before Harry was kissing him again, and gasping something about lube in the drawer.

It took Draco a minute to find which drawer it was, given that he had trouble peeling his hands away from Harry’s body. But once he did, and realized there was a generous amount in the tube (and got over feeling smug about that), he was burning hard and ready for things to go quickly this first time. So he waved his wand to cast the charm that would banish their clothes and render them naked as soon as possible.

Except Harry was casting it at the same time, and their clothes struggled in midair and then disintegrated on the floor. Draco watched with as mild a gape as he could manage. At least he thought it was less drop-jawed than his expression downstairs when Harry had told Draco to kiss him.

“See?” Harry muttered. “We _are_ compatible.”

Draco looked up. The remarks he would have made fled his mind and mouth when he caught a glimpse of Harry’s tanned skin, and twining scars, and flexing chest muscles. At least the spells had worked without injuring them, he thought, and urged Harry onto the bed with his mouth alone, and picked up the lube again.

Harry made a great production out of the whole business, thrashing and gripping the bedposts and swearing. Draco finally drew back to slick his own cock, tilting his head at Harry. It was difficult to do that _and_ smooth the lube down his cock with one hand _and_ keep a few fingers inside Harry, but he managed, because he was a Malfoy. “What was all that about?”

“You’re the—the first man I’ve ever had inside me. I think I’m—entitled to some thrashing.”

This time, the smugness felt as if it would drip out of Draco’s mouth like water. He leaned in and kissed Harry until some of it was gone, and then he slid back and slid _in_.

It took a few minutes for them to coordinate their movements, and for Draco to find the angle that would work the most groans out of Harry, and for Harry to let go of the bedposts and rest his hands where they belonged, on Draco’s hips. But once they got moving…

It felt as if they were racing down a path, towards the same goal. It felt as if they knew and anticipated each other’s movements before they made them.

 _My God,_ Draco thought, heart galloping, catching Harry’s eye, _is this what it’s going to be like working as partners in the field, too?_

Then all thought fled, before the growing ache in his balls and the way Harry’s throat flushed when his head was tossed back and the catch and rise and _shift_ of hips below his, and Draco was coming embarrassingly fast but that was all right, it was their first time, and from the way Harry cried out and spurted below him, he would have no complaints.

Draco either blacked out or lost his memory in a drifting, contented haze for a few minutes. When he woke up, he was draped over Harry’s chest, cuddling his neck with both hands. Harry snorted at him and separated them with a soft squelch.

“All right there, Malfoy?” But his hand was tender and still on Draco’s cheek.

Draco turned his head and kissed the fingers cupping his cheek. “That’s _Auror Malfoy_ to you. Your partner.”

Harry smiled hard enough to make Draco’s own cheek tingle. “Yeah? You never did tell me what term you prefer for the—sex part of it.”

He couldn’t speak any other words about it yet. That was all right. Neither could Draco. “Partner. For all of it.”

“Then it’s Auror Potter to you, too,” Harry retorted, and leaned over to kiss him.

Draco drew him close, holding him, feeling the relaxing twitches in Harry’s muscles and how his cock gave a little surge of weary interest against Draco’s stomach.

“We can—stop being incredibly strong Aurors for one evening, though.”

“Yeah?” Harry repeated. “I’m glad of that.”

And his mouth caught Draco’s, explaining all the words he couldn’t yet say, confirming the reasons they were partners.

**The End.**


End file.
